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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834670">cut the conversation, just open your mouth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00'>meeks00</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Miya Atsumu, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Consent is Sexy, Drinking, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, No beta we die like mne, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Profanity, Slow Burn, Smut, Switching, Top Miya Atsumu, Top Sakusa Kiyoomi, lots of profanity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:13:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sakusa opens the door. He always does.</i><br/> <br/>They’re teammates first, barely even friends. But they hook up on the regular and it works. It’s simple, easy. But then a fan gets too close, Sakusa reacts, and Atsumu is swept up in how quickly things can get complicated. </p><p>__</p><p>  <i>As Atsumu palms himself over his briefs, still feeling off, he realizes it’s because he still wants it. Him. Sakusa. Even after already having him earlier.</i></p><p>  <i>He should probably feel self-conscious, mildly ashamed even, that he’s panting ‘Omi Omi’ into the dark beneath the steady thrum of the AC unit when Sakusa’s right down the hall, probably good for it if Atsumu ended up back at his door. Instead, he lays there, writhing and sweaty, alone in his hotel room bed thinking about Sakusa and touching himself. </i></p><p>  <i>Afterward, as cum begins to cool on his chest, Atsumu really can’t help but face the fact that things may be getting complicated.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1200</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cut the conversation, just open your mouth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title is from “Fascination Street” by The Cure. I received the title as a prompt ages ago for a different fandom fic, but it felt terribly appropriate for this one, so I decided to reuse it. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sakusa opens the door. He always does.</p><p>It’s a simple, easy, uncomplicated thing that Atsumu has relied on now for going on six months, and he grins lazily as he straightens up in the now-open doorway. He takes in Sakusa’s maskless face, glasses perched lightly on the bridge of his nose, the nearly too-subtle pissed-off line of his mouth. </p><p>“Ya knew it was me, didn’t ya,” Atsumu says smugly, stepping forward. He’s not even slurring. He only just tipped into that easy kind of drunken buzz, and it’s not at all dulling the heat of anticipation lighting him up at the sight before him as he eyes the low-slung sweats and bare chest, the moles dotting Sakusa’s skin.</p><p>Frown lines appear between Sakusa’s eyebrows as he presses one hand against the doorway to block his advance. “You drunk, Miya?” </p><p>“Nah,” Atsumu says easily, ducking unsteadily past Sakusa’s arm and patting his ass on his way in. “But maybe just drunk enough.”</p><p>Sakusa steps back to hold the door open as if waiting for a reason to tell Atsumu to leave. “What’re you doing here? You smell like shit.” </p><p>Atsumu sighs, feeling uncharacteristically patient and gracious even as Sakusa acts like his normal asshole self. “Ya know damn well what I’m doin’ here. Ya wouldn’t have opened the door like this,” he gestures with one hand at Sakusa’s sleep-ready getup and lack of a fucking amateur Hazmat suit, “if ya didn’t want it too. Took yer sweet time lettin’ me in though.” He thinks Sakusa was probably making him work for it and swallows down his grudging respect. </p><p>Sakusa eyes him for another moment before nodding toward the bathroom and closing the door. Atsumu rolls his eyes, but he heads over to take a quick shower to wash away the sweat and spilled booze and perfume coating his skin. </p><p>When he walks into the bedroom, Sakusa has a glass of water on the bedside table ready for him and is leaning against the headboard. His glasses already sit next to the glass, and he has his arms crossed like he’s been waiting. </p><p>Before Atsumu can say a word about it, Sakusa says, “That didn’t seem to take long enough. Did you actually wash up, or did you just jack off in there again like last time?” </p><p>Atsumu scowls. “That happened once, because I was horny as fuck and ya were bein’ a pissy little shit,” he replies, but he’s making his way over and setting his towel on the bed. As he picks up the glass and gulps down the water, he realizes he’s already half hard thinking about where the night’s going and how good it’ll be. How good it always is.</p><p>Sakusa doesn’t say anything else as he watches until he puts the glass back down. When Atsumu sets a knee on the bed and moves to straddle him, Sakusa’s hands are hot and firm where they land on Atsumu’s thighs to guide him down. He must be in a helluva mood too if the strength of his grip is any indication. </p><p>The sheer heat of want runs up Atsumu’s spine as he cuts Sakusa a sharp grin. Atsumu knows he’s easy like this - a little drunk, loose and willing, and just all-around ready to be fucked after a night out. Sometimes, during the luxury of a bye week and a day or so off, he’ll stay out late enough to drink enough to black out with the guys. Other nights he’ll go home with some random who’s hot for him at the bar. </p><p>But on some nights, like tonight, he knows exactly what he wants.</p><p>It’s something simple, something familiar, something that’ll allow him to let go, just for a little while, just enough so he can really unwind. It’s Sakusa’s hands gripping him this side of too tight, one of them sliding through Atsumu’s damp hair for a good grip to pull him in for a hard kiss. It’s the easy way Atsumu fits his hips against Sakusa’s, the long, hot grind of it until he feels the tell-tale iron heat of Sakusa’s dick through the thin cotton of his pants. It’s the pressure that builds and licks flames inside him as he starts to get a different kind of buzz from the pleasure of it. </p><p>They don’t usually take much time with foreplay, unless a mess of lube and deft fingers fucking into his hole after a couple of wet, sucking kisses counts. Soon it’s two, then three of them reaching just the right spot inside him, pressing relentlessly, ruthlessly. Atsumu’s thighs shake as he kneels, panting over Sakusa and fucking his hips down in a familiar rhythm to get those fingers to hit deeper still.</p><p>“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Omi,” he breathes out. He watches the slide of Sakusa’s Adam’s apple move with a swallow and moans. Sakusa always does this - tries to hold back in one way or another, and Atsumu gets a sick sort of pleasure at watching him slowly come undone. At being the one who gets him off like this.</p><p>And Atsumu is so keyed up already, has been thinking about this all night if he’s honest, but he’s not, usually. Instead, he’d drowned thoughts of where he’d eventually wind up with a few shots and a lot of mixed drinks, made out with some chick with a strong-ass perfume that he knew someone else might smell on him later, and felt smug with it before he’d finally dipped. He’d paid for her drinks, so he wasn’t entirely an asshole, right? </p><p>And now, right now, his head is empty, his ass full with three long fingers, and this gorgeous man beneath him is jerking his cock nice and slow to loosen him up further. </p><p>He has one hand on Sakusa’s shoulder to hold himself steady, the other gripping his own hair to rein himself in to make this last. And he knows he looks slutty as fuck riding Sakusa’s fingers like this, letting himself be put on display over him. But he likes the way Sakusa’s eyes glitter in the dim light, the way they hold steady on Atsumu’s face as if to watch every twitch and every gasp being pulled from him with his own two hands. Then Sakusa rolls his calloused palm over the head of Atsumu’s dick, and Atsumu can’t help it when his hips stutter out of rhythm. </p><p>“Shit, Omi. I’m ready. I’m ready,” he says, swiping one hand back to smack impatiently at Sakusa’s hand behind him. </p><p>Sakusa frowns as he pulls his fingers away. Atsumu feels his hole twitch at the sensation of being empty, but then Sakusa rolls a condom on. He slicks himself up with more lube, and his lips press into a thin line that hints of struggling to stay in control of himself. Then he wipes his hands off on the discarded towel beside them. </p><p>Atsumu shifts and reaches back to grab hold of Sakusa’s length, running his hand up and down the shaft once, twice, then letting the head kiss at his hole. He lowers himself slowly at first, liking the tease of it, liking even better the soft groan Sakusa can’t hide as the head of his dick pushes past his rim. It feels so good to be stretched open like this, and Atsumu takes his time with it. </p><p>Between the shower and brushing his teeth with the spare toothbrush and Sakusa being slow as hell at opening him up, Atsumu has lost most of his buzz, but this is the feeling he was chasing anyway. This is how he wanted his night to end - with no attachments and no complications, just filled up and fucked deep.</p><p>Thank fuck for endurance and conditioning sessions, because without them Atsumu might have had trouble taking Sakusa in slowly just like this, inch by inch. He’s pushing his own strength to the limit after a long day as he exercises control over how much of Sakusa he takes in, wanting to feel that stretch, the pull of the head of Sakusa’s cock against the rim of his hole as he lifts himself up again. But then he sinks all the way down to the base in one go, his ass meeting Sakusa’s hips. He moans with the heat of being filled up so good, taking what he wants at his own pace, even as Sakusa grips his thighs harder to get him to speed him up.</p><p>Atsumu leans back, pressing his hands behind him onto Sakusa’s thighs to support himself as he starts to ride him in earnest. He’s just flexible enough for this position, and the stretch of his shoulders and along his quads is worth it when Sakusa bites his lip and tilts his head back, eyes closing tight at the new angle and the pace. Atsumu feels Sakusa’s thighs tighten beneath his hands, doesn’t hold back from squeezing his fingertips in and watching the wince flash across Sakusa’s face before he lets out a low groan. Atsumu thinks distantly, smugly, <i>I did that,</i> and keeps riding him harder. </p><p>As the pleasure builds, Atsumu loves the way his panting breaths are punctuated by the sounds of his own moans, enjoys the smooth, rolling motions of his body as he fucks down and draws out helpless groans from a normally stuffy and reserved Sakusa. </p><p>After a while, Atsumu says, “Look at me.” His voice comes out low, forced out from deep in his chest around another moan as he sinks down all the way to the base, taking Sakusa’s cock as deep as it’ll go and grinding his hips forward to feel him even more.</p><p>Sakusa lifts his head back up and blinks his eyes open at the command, eyes searching blankly for a moment before they latch onto Atsumu’s again, narrowing at the tone. “Can you move faster, or do I need to take over?” he bites out, eyes roving over Atsumu’s body. </p><p>Atsumu grins, sliding a hand up his chest to tweak at his nipple, pleasure sparking in his gut at the added stimulus. He watches as Sakusa’s eyes catch there, the inadvertent way he licks his lips. “C’mon, then,” Atsumu says, pulling off and breaking the moment just to get another one of Sakusa’s frowns. Sakusa doesn’t disappoint. Atsumu doesn’t hide the nasty turn of his grin as he drags the towel over and spreads it out. Then he raises his brows impatiently. “Ya doin’ this, or am I finishin’ myself off?”</p><p>Sakusa just shoves roughly at his shoulder until Atsumu lays down on his back, but then Sakusa pulls at his hip. Atsumu takes the cue and rolls over, pushing himself up to all fours and glancing back to slice another grin over his shoulder. </p><p>“Ya really like it like this, don’t ya, Omi-kun?” he says with the light, playful tone he knows Sakusa hates. </p><p>“Yeah, because then I don’t have to look at your ugly fucking mug, Miya,” Sakusa says evenly. Though the way his chest is heaving and how his eyes narrow down to Atsumu’s ass contradict his words as he lines himself up. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Atsumu says, barking out a laugh. “Ya think I’m hot as fuck.” </p><p>And then he cries out as Sakusa thrusts in again all at once. Atsumu decides to let that round go to Sakusa, because he can’t hold back on the moans spilling from his lips enough to respond as Sakusa takes over the pace. </p><p>And he’s brutal with it. The way he fucks is nearly as cold and calculated as how he plays on the court. With every thrust, Sakusa somehow hits with the utmost fucking precision at that spot deep in Atsumu that makes him lose his goddamn mind. He’s absolutely burning up with it, and somehow he’s craving more.</p><p>He finally allows himself to just sink into it then - to let everything else go. He’s left with the force of each thrust scrubbing his hands and knees roughly against the sheets, the sound of slapping skin against skin, the feel of his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, the heady smell of lube and sex surrounding them. </p><p>Atsumu can feel that heat inside of him building, climbing from down low up until he’s nearly choking with it. He’s fucking himself back to get Sakusa deeper, but the hands at his hips grip tighter to temper his movements. Atsumu’s torn between just taking it and shoving those hands off to regain control. </p><p>Then he feels Sakusa’s hand press down on his upper back, and he relaxes his arms at the cue, planting face down into one of Sakusa’s pillows. It smells like the shampoo Atsumu used just a bit ago, and a little like that unique scent that’s purely Sakusa. Atsumu muffles his moan as he rubs his face into it. He can hear Sakusa grunting behind him, sounding like he’s close now, which just riles Atsumu up further until he’s fucking needy for it, turning his face so his cheek is planted down, his hands bracing him against the headboard in front of him as he’s shoved forward as Sakusa pistons his hips forward. </p><p>“Fuck me, Omi. Fuck! Harder!” </p><p>Sakusa, for all that he’s a contrary shit, does as he’s asked, rolling into each thrust and ending with a snap of his hips until Atsumu can’t hold it in anymore. He reaches down and starts jerking himself off fast. His cock is wet with precum, making it slick and easy and almost too much as he digs his forehead into the mattress. He’s so turned on, so hot for the friction of Sakusa’s dick driving deep inside him, pleasure burning so much that it’s like a knot twisting in his gut. </p><p>“Atsumu,” Sakusa pants out, and Atsumu sees white behind his eyelids as Sakusa relentlessly hits that fucking spot. Atsumu twists his wrist on his next upstroke, and his orgasm hits him in an unraveling rush - every muscle, every last hint of a thought, every thread of himself unwinding and coming undone at the sound of his own name ringing in his ears as his cum spurts all over the towel beneath him. </p><p>Moments later, he barely even notices Sakusa’s hips stuttering against his ass and then holding steady as he cums, that hand still shoving hard at Atsumu’s back to press him face down, his other hand around Atsumu’s waist to hold his ass up into the right position as Atsumu’s legs go weak. But he does feel it when Sakusa finally pulls out, and he forces back a cringe at the weird feeling of being empty afterward. </p><p>Sakusa guides him with one hand so Atsumu can roll over away from the wet spot on the towel. Atsumu stretches with a quiet, satisfied groan and blinks blearily up at Sakusa as he comes down from his orgasm. </p><p>He’s still kind of floating on the high of it as he watches Sakusa pull off and tie off the condom before he gets up to dispose of it in the bathroom. As he goes, Atsumu admires the hard stretch of lean muscle of Sakusa’s long legs as he slides off the bed, the twist of his sweat-slicked abs as he turns to grab the soiled towel, and the roll of the muscles along his shoulders and back as he stands. His bare ass isn't anything to sneeze at either. </p><p>When Sakusa returns, he shakes a bottle of ibuprofen before him and tosses it. Atsumu catches it with one hand and pops the top open, spilling a few pills into his palm. “Hey, Omi,” Atsumu says, drawing out the vowels. </p><p>Sakusa rolls his eyes, grabs the empty glass on the bedside table. Atsumu sits up against the headboard and waits for his refill. He trades the towel on the bed for the glass of water and chugs it down, grinning around the lip of the glass at Sakusa’s expression of distaste as he puts the towel in the laundry basket in the closet. </p><p>“You staying?” Sakusa asks when he turns around. </p><p>Atsumu appreciates the question sometimes, even when his answer is always the same. “Nah,” he replies, setting the glass back down. </p><p>“Suit yourself.”</p><p>Atsumu goes blind for a minute before he realizes Sakusa has tossed his own clothes in his face. “Aw, Omi-Omi. No post-coital cuddle first?”</p><p>“I wasn’t aware that you knew such sophisticated words, Miya.” </p><p>Atsumu pops his head through his tee and smirks. “There’s a lot ya don’t know about me,” he says. </p><p>He finishes getting dressed quickly and then stares for a moment at Sakusa, who’s back in his sweats in an unnecessary display of modesty as he tidies up the sheets in Atsumu’s wake. </p><p>When Sakusa takes a seat back on the bed and glances up, almost in question, his mouth opening to speak, Atsumu glances away and salutes. “See ya at practice on Monday.” </p><p>Then he leaves. And that’s that. Simple.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>There was one time someone asked about it - around four months or so into whatever it was he and Sakusa were doing. Of course it was Osamu. </p><p>Generally though, that he and Sakusa fucked around on the regular was the team’s best-kept secret. </p><p>No one ever mentioned it, but sometimes one of them would catch Atsumu wandering down the hotel hallway late at night when they were in a hotel for an away match. Atsumu never hid his glee at the reactions he got. </p><p>Meian always pretended he didn’t see him heading toward a specific player’s room and would shoot the shit for 20 minutes straight to avoid the topic altogether. Hinata would raise his eyebrows up and down, ever supportive. Bokuto smiled a smile tinged with concern because he was a die-hard romantic in a beefcake’s body. And the others just displayed a medley of similar reactions. </p><p>Osamu, though, lacked a fucking filter. “Yer such a goddamn slut,” he had said. </p><p>Atsumu laughed right in his face. “And proud of it, motherfucker,” he replied, making a V sign with an overly bright grin through it. He flicked the tip of his tongue and laughed again at Osamu’s disgusted face. </p><p>Osamu made a threatening gesture as if to slap him, but Atsumu knew when Osamu was feeling violent with retribution and when he was just pretending to be annoyed. Still, Atsumu flinched dramatically away so people walking by the cafe would know how unfairly he, a rising volleyball star who would perhaps soon rep for the entire goddamn nation, was treated. </p><p>Osamu rolled his eyes as he lowered his hand. “You’ve been doin’ this - thing - with Sakusa-san fer how long now?” Osamu asked. “A couple of months?”</p><p>Atsumu sat up straight in his seat again and pulled his tea closer. It had been longer than just a couple, but he shrugged. “Thereabouts. Yeah.” </p><p>“And yer not catchin’ any feelings, then?” Osamu said, eyeing him over his own cup. </p><p>“Nah. Ya know I’m not built for that,” Atsumu replied, but even as he had said it, he wondered. </p><p>He thought of those two beauty marks over Sakusa’s eyebrow, the way they shifted when he was really hot for the way Atsumu sucked him off. (Or maybe he was really just hot for Atsumu.) He thought of the way Sakusa’s hands sometimes curled around the back of his neck when they started kissing, as if to make sure he wouldn’t move, as if to ensure Atsumu would just take it as much as Atsumu did when he was taking something else from behind. (Or maybe just to keep Atsumu there for a few seconds longer.) He thought of the way his mind blanked out after he orgasmed, and Sakusa never let him fall on the wet spot or was the one who always got up to get a towel to make sure everything didn’t get covered in cum. (Or maybe to spare Atsumu the mess.)</p><p>He knew Osamu was a one-and-done type of guy. If he was putting in the effort with someone, he couldn’t shift to focus on anyone else. He felt like it was some sort of deception or some noble shit like that.</p><p>But Atsumu thought that was a personal problem. </p><p>Ever the other side of the coin, Atsumu knew what he liked, he knew what he wanted, and he always had. Once he separated all of that out from everyone else around him and what they wanted, the rest was easy. They could either enjoy the ride with him or peace out. Simple.</p><p>“I dunno. People change,” Osamu said, eyeing him carefully in the way that made Atsumu’s expression tighten. </p><p>There was that feeling of being scoped from a distance, like Osamu was lining up his shot and Atsumu wouldn’t know he was in his sight until he was hit suddenly right between the eyes with some sort of paradigm shift. Osamu had always been unfairly good at seeing things coming. </p><p>“Especially when you’ve been with someone fer that long,” Osamu added. </p><p>Atsumu shifted in his seat. “‘S not that long,” he said, but he remembered the first time, the second. He had pretty clear memories of a vast majority of the times spanning over nearly half a year by now that he’d shown up at Sakusa’s door - sometimes tipsy, sometimes drunk, sometimes even after hooking up with somebody else. But he always somehow found his way to Sakusa’s door. </p><p>He shoved the thought out of his mind. Who needed memories anyway, right?</p><p>“Long enough,” Osamu argued. And Atsumu started to scowl at him, annoyed at the persistence of this conversation. Seeing the expression on his face, Osamu finally got to his point, “Ya work together. Ya see each other almost every day. And then ya sleep together. And, don’t even fuckin’ argue with me on this, but ya never do anythin’ ya don’t want. So it just seems ta me like you’ve got somethin’ there now whether ya want it or not.” He pauses. “But then ya also fuck around with other people - a lot. And it just seems kinda - complicated.”</p><p>“I get tested, if that’s what yer worried about, ya judgey asshole,” Atsumu said, forcing a light tone. He adjusted the lip of his baseball cap over his sunglasses when he felt eyes on him, and the man a few tables over glanced away. </p><p>“You’ve always been a filthy pig, Tsumu, but I wasn’t actually worried about that until ya mentioned it,” Osamu said, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “What about him, then?”</p><p>Atsumu sighed, growing tired of this. “What? Is he clean? Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous. Ya ever even see ‘im without a mask on?” But Osamu shook his head, and Atsumu caught back onto the original question. “Ya askin’ if he’s in love with me?” he asked, scoffing.</p><p>Osamu shrugged, eyes lazy as he stared evenly across the table. “Ya ever been with anyone else who stuck around this long?”</p><p>“Who cares?” Atsumu burst out, smile falling off his face when he realized it wasn’t a joke. “He hasn’t said anythin’, he’s down fer it when I show up, so why’s it gotta be a big fuckin’ deal? If he stays, then he stays. And if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t. All right?”</p><p>Another memory popped up unbidden, one from when he and Sakusa had first started this whole thing, and the night had ended in a fight that had Atsumu storming out. He shoved it to the back of his mind when a familiar but unsettling knot wound in his gut. </p><p>He went to sip his tea, but he realized it was empty. Frustrated, he slammed the cup down onto the table and scowled deeper when Osamu’s eyes narrowed at the action. “Besides, if he was - if he did try to make it complicated - I’d walk away anyway. It’s that simple.” </p><p>Osamu raised his brows. “Nothin’ with ya is ever <i>simple</i>.”  </p><p>Atsumu forced down the instinct to snap back. They weren’t in high school anymore, and though they still riled each other up in that raw way only family can, neither of them were as outright committed to it as they had been when they were younger. </p><p>He also didn’t want Osamu to get pissed off enough to try to start something for real either. Atsumu had a photoshoot coming up with the team for a magazine, and he didn’t want to explain to Meian again why he showed up with evidence of a scuffle that he may or may not have instigated. Again. </p><p>“Whatever, ya gossip rag,” Atsumu said lightly, though he couldn’t help the scowl still pulling at his features. “Ya still openin’ up that new location in a couple of months?” he asked.</p><p>Osamu sighed lightly before a small smile crept onto his face. Atsumu felt his shoulders relax a bit at the reaction. He’d been wondering if Osamu was getting stressed out about expanding. </p><p>Since the start of their brief meetup, Atsumu had noticed the eyebags, the stress lines at the corners of Osamu’s eyes, the five o-clock shadow darkening his jaw - all little hints of work pressure building up. </p><p>But they were also evidence of how they were starting to look more and more different apart from just their body conditioning and dyed hair. It was something they’d always tried to find - all of the minuscule identifiers that set them apart, like the faint differences in eye and hair color, the shape of their chins, the hoods of their eyes, or even the timber of their voices. It’s what each of them focused on when looking in the mirror, had brought up to others over and over when they were younger. </p><p>But now that more of these little details were showing up due to time rather than verbal insistence, Atsumu found it strange to look at his brother and not see a carbon copy of himself staring back. Some people still mistook one for the other, but instances of that were growing fewer and far between as time passed. </p><p>“Who’d ya have ta fuck ta get enough investors on board fer a new spot?” Atsumu asked to shake himself out of his thoughts. </p><p>Osamu’s eyes sharpened at the insult, and, predictably, the conversation devolved from there. </p><p>When they parted, it was with a tight grip of hands, a half hug, and rough slaps to the back because they probably wouldn’t see each other for a while. </p><p>Atsumu had glanced over his shoulder to watch Osamu go with only a hint of that familiar pang in his chest at taking a different road home. </p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>At their next away game, Atsumu barely has just a couple of the airplane bottles of liquor from his mini-fridge before he leaves his room. Adriah catches one glimpse of him walking with purpose and careens dramatically down another hallway when they make eye contact. Atsumu just rolls his eyes as he raps on Sakusa’s door. </p><p>When it opens, Sakusa is fresh from a shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Atsumu’s hair is still dripping a bit from his own shower, and Sakusa flicks at the budding drop of water on a strand over Atsumu’s forehead, splashing it into his eyes. </p><p>“Hey!” Atsumu cries, scrubbing across his face as he shoves his way into the room. “What the hell? Hi to you too, asshole!”</p><p>“What are you, a child? Go towel your hair off properly,” Sakusa says, pointing to the bathroom. </p><p>Atsumu rolls his eyes for the second time tonight, this time exaggeratedly under Sakusa’s disdainful expression, before he heads into the bathroom. As he grabs one of the extra towels to scrub his hair a bit drier, he smells the growingly familiar scent of Sakusa’s home-brought shampoo still hanging in the air. </p><p>It kind of reminds him of home. </p><p>He hadn’t really been in the mood to travel this week. He’d hoped to catch Osamu’s grand opening for the new spot, but unfortunately their schedules hadn’t lined up this time. They’d talked briefly on the phone before opening time, but Osamu had been stretched thin, so Atsumu had let him go. The guys probably had a hint of what was bugging him this week because they’d been hanging on him a bit more than usual. He couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate it. </p><p>He must have zoned out for a minute because Saksusa walks into the bathroom with a frown. Atsumu lowers the towel and grins as Sakusa stalks forward and corners him against the sink and the wall. </p><p>“Impatient today, eh, Omi-Omi?” </p><p>“Just trying to get my mind off things,” Sakusa says vaguely, and Atsumu nods. Maybe he’d rather be elsewhere today too, but right now, it isn’t too bad here either. </p><p>The thought is reinforced when Sakusa drops to his knees right there. He doesn’t bother undressing or giving Atsumu the time to do so either, just pulls at the waistband of Atsumu’s track pants to free his dick. </p><p>Atsumu winds his fingers through Sakusa’s damp curls, and he’s pleased at the way Sakusa lightly tilts his head up to meet his eyes even as he starts to lightly jerk at Atsumu’s cock with one fist. Sakusa’s lips just barely graze at the tip, the heat of his breath making Atsumu’s cock twitch slightly in interest. What a fucking tease. But he likes Sakusa like this anyway and licks his lips in anticipation. </p><p>And the familiarity of it all - the steam still clinging to the air from Sakusa’s shower, the pressure down low promising sweet relief, Sakusa there on his knees looking up at him - it’s as soothing as it is hot. </p><p>Atsumu starts breathing heavily as he hardens beneath Sakusa’s hand, gets all the way there right fucking quick when those lips part to take him in. Wanting more, he grips tighter at Sakusa’s hair, with both hands this time, and Sakusa delivers with a hard suck that elicits a moan from deep in Atsumu’s chest. </p><p>The bathroom counter digs sharply into his ass, but the mouth on him is hot and wet and distracts him well enough. Sakusa’s tongue traces a slick trail around the head before licking down along the shaft. Then he sucks Atsumu down again, one hand pumping what he can’t reach with his mouth, the other moving low to toy at his balls. </p><p>Atsumu breathes loudly through his nose, looking down to watch his cock disappear in increments as Sakusa takes in more and more of him, relaxing his jaw a bit and starting to open up his throat. </p><p>Sakusa hadn’t always done that, maybe couldn’t before, but they’ve been doing this for a while now, and he’s gotten damn good at giving it the way Atsumu likes best. </p><p>“Like that, Omi,” Atsumu groans, lifting the hem of his shirt to make some space. His abs move with each breath above Sakusa’s bobbing head, and he bites his lip at the sight of it all. “Just like that.” </p><p>Almost without intention, he starts grinding his hips forward. Sakusa barely chokes these days, but there’s a little hitch to his breath out his nose when he swallows on a harder thrust. </p><p>Atsumu cuts a sliver of a smug smile down at the eyes that flicker up at him with annoyance. They’re dark, almost obsidian beneath the bright lights, deep and unfathomable but for the heat Atsumu sees there despite that frustration. Sakusa’s so fucking hot for him that it turns Atsumu on even more. </p><p>“Can ya take it all the way down tonight, baby?” Atsumu asks, and his voice comes out a shade too quiet despite his slash of a smile, so he grips tighter at Sakusa’s hair and thrusts forward again without any further warning to make up for being so soft. </p><p>And yeah, Sakusa takes it. </p><p>His long fingers dig into Atsumu’s thighs as he gets face fucked, his eyes slipping shut, mouth wet and sloppy as drool leaks out the corners of his lips and slips over Atsumu’s cock. Sakusa’s making little gasping sounds through his nose, and Atsumu positively feels Sakusa’s moans vibrating along his dick with every thrust in. He can’t help it when his thumb brushes over those two beauty marks over Sakusa’s eyebrow. He looks so fucking good like this. Especially when he takes it all the way down to the base, deep enough that tears begin to wet his eyelashes. </p><p>It’s hot as hell, and Atsumu watches as Sakusa’s shoulders begin to shift. “Yeah,” he says, knowing Skausa’s getting a hand on himself. “Yer so fuckin’ good like this, Omi. Fuck into yer fist for me. I want ya ta cum before me and let me fuck yer mouth after until I’m done.” </p><p>It won’t take long for him now. His thighs are starting to shake. The heat is building in his gut and spreading like wildfire as he tips closer toward his climax. </p><p>Sakusa takes it deep again as Atsumu grips his hair tighter, driving forward. “Ya gotta come, Omi,” Atsumu pants out. “I’m so fuckin’ close. I’m gonna - “</p><p>And he feels it in the tight suction around his cock as Sakusa comes. The long groan drags along the sensitive skin of Atsumu’s dick as Sakusa pulls off, and it tips Atsumu right over the edge as he uses his own hand to finish jerking himself once, twice, and then he cums all over that pretty fucking face. </p><p>He accidentally laughs a bit over his heavy breaths when he spurts so hard that some cum gets into Sakusa’s fringe. The meek, post-orgasm glare he gets in response when Sakusa blinks his eyes open just sets Atsumu off into full-blown laughter. He’s not even that buzzed anymore. This shit would be funny as all hell even without a drop of booze. </p><p>He’s gracious enough to grip the hand Sakusa holds out so he can help him up off his knees. “Sorry,” Atsumu says quickly. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t on purpose, I swear!” He’s giggling, giddy with the high of his orgasm and the honest-to-god pout on Sakusa’s face. </p><p>Sakusa shoves hard at Atsumu when Atsumu goes in for a hug. “I know,” Sakusa says dryly. And Atsumu will never get over the sound of that voice all rough and low from taking dick like a champ. “You’re always just a special brand of mess, Miya.”</p><p>Atsumu grins, shrugging because he can’t find it in himself to argue with that. He hangs around a little longer as Sakusa washes his hair to get the cum out of it, feeling like he can do that much at least and not leave the guy a lone mess in a hotel room after he’d just sucked Atsumu’s brains out through his dick. He even helps him towel his hair dry afterward, crooning, “Such a child, Omi-kun.” He gets a swat on the ass for it. </p><p>Later that night, he lays wide awake staring up at the pebbled ceiling of his own hotel room. Slivers of light seep in between the curtains where he hadn’t pulled them tightly closed, and he takes in the clean lines of light cutting across his bed. </p><p>He’s sated and loose and relieved in a way he’s come to associate with seeing Sakusa, and right now, he’s no longer thinking about missing Osamu’s new location opening with the same heaviness as he had earlier. </p><p>Still, though, he feels off.</p><p>Usually, after an easy evening with a drink or two, especially after hooking up with Sakusa, sleep tends to come easy. But tonight, something feels - different. Atsumu is oddly restless, his brain’s buzzing, and he’s strangely turned on despite having just gotten his dick wet a couple of hours before. </p><p>He realizes then with a jolt that they hadn’t used a condom. Sakusa’s usually the one who will slip it over Atsumu’s cock if he’s the one taking it, but this time he’d just gone for it. </p><p>Atsumu gets tested regularly, and he’s always careful because he’s not a fucking idiot, but Sakusa is some top tier-level of hygienic. Atsumu wonders when they got to a point where Sakusa knows Atsumu wouldn’t ever be careless enough to pass anything onto him. </p><p>As he palms himself over his briefs, still feeling strange, he realizes it’s because he still wants it. Him. Sakusa. Even after already having him. </p><p>He thinks of the soft texture of Sakusa’s damp curls between his fingers, the scent of his shampoo, the obscene sheen of Sakusa’s wet, exposed lips wrapped around his bare cock, and he craves more. Not just more, but <i>him.</i> </p><p>All too soon, he’s kicking his sheets down the bed and jerking himself off hard and fast. </p><p>He should probably feel self-conscious, mildly ashamed even, that he’s panting <i>‘Omi Omi’</i> into the dark beneath the steady thrum of the AC unit when Sakusa’s right down the hall, probably good for it if Atsumu ended up back at his door. Instead, he lays there, writhing and sweaty, alone in his hotel room bed thinking about Sakusa and touching himself. </p><p>Afterward, as his cum begins to cool on his chest, Atsumu really can’t help but face the fact that things may be getting complicated. </p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>There was one time, maybe three or so months into this thing, when he arrived sober as a bird. He’d given Sakusa a rare heads up a few hours before dropping by, and when he walked in, there was a bag of takeout on the counter. </p><p>“I’m gonna eat dinner first or I’ll just be annoyed the entire time,” Sakusa said stiffly, setting up at the counter with a full place setting laid out like the proper little rich boy he was.</p><p>“Fine,” Atsumu said as he followed, staring pointedly at the empty spot on the counter next to him. “Uh, aren’t ya forgettin’ somethin’, Omi-kun?”</p><p>Sakusa had sighed, rolling his eyes upward in a put-upon way, but he got up to lay out another place setting nonetheless while Atsumu unpacked the bag of food. It turned out there was enough to feed an entire army in there, let alone two pro athletes. </p><p>Atsumu had felt warmth unfurl in his belly at the thought of Sakusa planning to share, but he brushed it off as hunger and made impatient ‘gimme’ hands at the big order of fatty tuna closest to Sakusa. </p><p>After dinner, they watched an action movie that had Atsumu booing, throwing microwavable popcorn at the TV, and kicking at Sakusa’s thigh to make sure he was watching. Sakusa kept making a hilarious and stupid scrunched face until he finally got up to grab his mini vacuum to suck up all the kernels. </p><p>Though he’d laughed at the reaction, Atsumu did help clean up by wiping the butter off the TV and the polished concrete floors with a disinfecting wipe. He was pretty well-versed on where Sakusa kept all the cleaning supplies by then. Sakusa had watched him clean with a suspicious eye, but he’d looked pleased afterward. Atsumu couldn’t help his own grin at the reaction.</p><p>After the movie, reclining back into Sakusa’s sofa, Atsumu had felt relaxed in a way he normally didn’t with people who weren’t his ma or Osamu or one of his old hometown buddies. He’d been languishing in it - until that question dropped. </p><p>“Why do you keep sleeping around?” Sakusa asked.</p><p>Atsumu had frozen, caught off guard. He was used to questions like that from time to time when he deigned to see someone more than once - for just long enough that they wanted more of him, but a short enough time together that they hadn’t yet seen the peeled-back side of him that was too raw and too harsh and too honest. Too mean. </p><p>But here, between him and Sakusa, it was such an odd question. They were teammates first, always. He thought that was clear. Whatever this was - sleeping together once a week, sometimes twice - was nothing compared to that. He wasn’t sure they were even friends. </p><p>“Why shouldn’t I?” Atsumu asked, and his voice came out a little too sharply.</p><p>Sakusa didn’t look at him. He’d stared straight ahead at the last lines of the credits rolling up in fine print that no one ever paid attention to. What was worse was that his expression was blank, like he hadn’t just randomly and carelessly disrupted whatever good thing they had going on with one stupid fucking question. </p><p>And if there was a hint of a downturn to his lips, a bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed while he stared straight ahead, well, that was something for Sakusa to deal with and Atsumu to ignore. </p><p>In response to it though, defensiveness burned through Atsumu instantly, irrefutably, like a match struck to create a flame. It flickered there just once, but then it grew hot, hot, and burned everything else good away. He felt like he was the one causing that reaction, but it had been Sakusa who had asked the question - changing everything.</p><p>Atsumu kicked his foot out at Sakusa’s shin when he didn't respond. </p><p>Sakusa swatted him away and then sighed, as if he regretted speaking at all, but Atsumu was past the point of letting it go. </p><p>“What, are ya not seein’ anybody else?” Atsumu asked, and when Sakusa didn’t answer, he felt a weird twist in his gut. He couldn’t tell if it was at the thought of Sakusa being with somebody else or being with no one but Atsumu. “Well, ya should. Maybe it’d loosen ya up a little.” </p><p>Sakusa cut a glance at him and leaned back, crossing his arms, a surly expression breaking up that impassive mask. “Maybe,” he said. “That’d mean you’re not fulfilling enough on your own though. Not enough to satisfy me. Is that really what you were going for?” </p><p>Atsumu had nearly spit on him then he was so furious. </p><p>Osamu always said Atsumu fought dirty. And that protectiveness or defensiveness never mattered, just that, when faced with fight or flight, Atsumu always opted for fight. But so what if Atsumu fought dirty? In the end, he always won, didn’t he? </p><p>“Ya know what?” Atsumu said, exerting so much control over his voice then that it shook a little. “Ya may be pretty, Omi-kun, and a pretty good lay, but if you’d try a little harder to get that stick outta yer ass, ya wouldn’t scare everybody off so quick.” </p><p>Later, after storming out and stewing in the cab ride home, Atsumu realized that they’d had dinner and watched a movie - and they didn’t even fuck. </p><p>To be honest, this time it hadn’t actually crossed his mind once they started eating. That thought alone pissed him off nearly as much as Sakusa asking about his business. </p><p>But his mind flashed then to Sakusa’s blank expression after the question, that downturn of his lips, the way he’d swallowed. </p><p>Though Atsumu had had the last word and been the one to walk out as usual, at that moment, it felt nothing like winning. </p><p>The next day at practice, things were fine. Peachy fucking keen. Maybe Sakusa wouldn’t look him in the eye, but he played as well as he usually did. It was all Atsumu could ask for, even if something else hovered there between them, like a question left unanswered. Atsumu ignored the feeling, thinking he’d answered pretty damn clearly last night.</p><p>Later, when they went out to celebrate Barnes’ birthday, to the surprise of no one, Atsumu soon had his arm around a cute twink in thick-rimmed glasses who was shy and sweet. </p><p>Atsumu knew he was hot shit. They all were, honestly. It was the rigorous hours of intense training, conditioning, physical therapy, massage therapy - the list went on. They were built to be fit. It paid off at the net, but also in the bedroom. That they were minor celebrities as the Jackals rose up the ranks just added flames to the fire of how people responded to them.</p><p>But Atsumu will admit that he hooked up with people more than all of the others, maybe even all of them combined. Hinata might have been on par with him, but, in the end, he inevitably traced his steps back to a particular Adlers setter whenever they were in the same city. </p><p>That night though, Atsumu felt an ugly sort of discomfort in his gut even as he chatted it up with Glasses. And he couldn’t bring himself to look Sakusa’s way. Though, whenever his eyes strayed in that direction, Sakusa was never even looking back anyway. </p><p>Atsumu ended up going home with that random dude who was a little loud in bed in a way that grated on his nerves, but it was a good enough fuck. It was easy, the guy was hot and funny, and Atsumu left right after with no issues whatsoever. No discussions, no prying questions nobody had any business asking, no strange facial expressions that later kept flashing through Atsumu’s mind.</p><p>Sakusa never mentioned their conversation again, and neither did Atsumu. And, eventually, they got over that night of takeout and a movie and nothing else. </p><p>It took one - maybe two - weeks before Atsumu had showed up at Sakusa’s door again. </p><p>He’d knocked - a weird pool of uncertainty winding through his veins as he waited for a beat, for two - and then the door had opened for him - like always.</p><p>But after that, sometimes the memory of that question, of Sakusa’s blank expression, would pop into his head at random as Atsumu hit on someone else. Especially when Sakusa was nearby, even if he was looking away. Especially when he was looking away. </p><p>And though Atsumu did his best to ignore it later, it didn’t take him long at all to recognize that the weird feeling churning in his gut was maybe - probably, definitely - exactly what he didn’t want - guilt. </p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>At some point, all of these bars look the same. They’re in another city, at another downtown strip, with another string of fans hanging around as they unwind after a long two days of demonstration matches. </p><p>Around them, the air is heavy with the low pulse of music and the growing din of patrons beginning to fill the space. </p><p>Meian’s a bit away from the group talking with Adriah, Bokuto is drinking shots with Hinata and Barnes but texting without any subtlety beneath the lip of the bar counter. It’s probably Akaashi; the man never sleeps. </p><p>It’s getting late, and Atsumu is chatting up some chick with a curl to her smile that he likes. She’s just about ready to take this somewhere else if the way her fingers are sliding along his forearm is any indication. </p><p>But, for some reason - one that Atsumu has been trying and failing to ignore more and more often recently - Atsumu keeps glancing down the bar instead of finding a way to take her home.  </p><p>There, Sakusa is nursing a beer as two women talk idly at him. He’s clearly not interested if the way he leans slightly away from them is any indication, but he contributes a word or two every so often like the polite guy that he is. At least with strangers. </p><p>Atsumu feels a pinch of irritation that Sakusa’s never so nice to him when he deserves it for all the top-tier sets Atsumu pitches to him. </p><p>It’s only because he’s glancing that way again to keep an eye on the awkward and hilarious mating habits of his most reserved teammate that Atsumu sees it when the woman closest to Sakusa reaches out.</p><p>Sakusa’s looking down at his drink, his body turned away from her, and Atsumu sees the moment it registers for him when this stranger makes contact with skin. </p><p>Sakusa goes stock still, the lines of his body stiffening, but this bitch has no fucking clue and continues to slide her hand over the back of his neck and into the curls of his hair there at the base of his neck. </p><p>Atsumu is halfway out of his seat, his heart seizing in his chest at the sight of it. Beside him, the girl he’d been talking to sucks in a breath in sudden alarm.</p><p>But then he sees Sakusa jerk violently away, whipping his arm up to dislodge her touch. </p><p>The woman who’d touched Sakusa quickly withdraws her hand, holding onto her arm in surprise. Sakusa stands so quickly that his barstool shrieks against the floor as it’s shoved back, and then it topples over with a clamor. </p><p>In the wake of that sound, it’s suddenly quiet. </p><p>The woman gapes up at Sakusa as he stares her down, eyes narrowed. </p><p>Atsumu takes in the hard, muscled lines of Sakusa’s body beneath his button up shirt, the broad expanse of his shoulders as they curl forward defensively, his looming pro-athlete height as he stares coldly down at this woman who’d had the nerve to touch him. </p><p>Distantly, Atsumu thinks that Sakusa looks strangely fragile in that moment. But it’s a fleeting thought overpowered by how Sakusa looks then, lean but still built and tall, as he looks down at the woman. </p><p>“Don’t <i>fucking</i> touch me,” Sakusa snaps. Then he turns and walks right out of the bar. </p><p>Atsumu doesn’t even try to stop him as he goes. Instead, he’s looking at where the girl turns and starts talking quickly with her friend, both of them staring after Sakusa in shock. </p><p>But it’s the phone in the friend’s hand that has caught Atsumu’s attention - and how it too follows as Sakusa leaves. </p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>There was one time at practice when Sakusa first joined up that Atsumu had seen him take a flying leap - this one no different than any other. </p><p>But he’d watched the bunch of Sakusa’s legs as he’d readied himself for the jump, the coil of his muscles, the backswing of his arms to propel him skyward. It had struck him then, as if for the first time, that he’d known this man from the skinny and whip-quick boy from years ago at youth camp with the wicked sharp crack of a spike. </p><p>And then there here he was, one of Atsumu’s spikers - but a fully grown man who had come into his own, who played with a feral desire for the ball that pinged Atsumu’s interest suddenly with more than just his setter’s sense of recognition. </p><p>For Atsumu, the first time with someone was always easy. If he liked what he saw, that was usually enough alone, and the rest - talking someone up and then heading home with them - all of that was basically old hat by now. </p><p>With Sakusa, Atsumu remembered the slow crawl of it. The budding heat. </p><p>Sakusa had always been pretty hard to read - half of his face masked, quiet among a team of big personalities, his eyes a dark cut of obsidian impassiveness except for on the court. Yet the way he directed attention was blunt and heavy. His focus on the ball, like he was locking in a target, was always immediate and full of intent. Like with any of his best spikers throughout his career, Atsumu knew that look to be one full of desire.</p><p>It didn’t take long after that for Atsumu to recognize Sakusa’s focus landing on him. Because he’d been looking for it. He’d invited it. He’d needled Sakusa with a slow game he was not known for otherwise - gave him nicknames, stared him down after offering a good set, shot him a flirtatious smile at post-game celebrations at the bar when he had his arm slung around someone else. </p><p>But soon, it became perhaps a bit more than that - the heat. It grew into a more visceral sort of desire the longer it took for Sakusa to reciprocate. </p><p>Needling became goading and goading became sheer provocation. </p><p>When Sakusa missed a spike or didn’t get the full force out of it, Atsumu cut a little sharper. He never sugar-coated shit for anyone, but after a while, he did so the least for Sakusa. </p><p>“They’re gonna cut you if you take too long to whip crack your signature spike with me,” Atsumu said one night. It wasn’t quite true, but it wasn’t wrong either. Sakusa had been having an off week for whatever reason. Everyone had them - but not Sakusa. </p><p>Perhaps that was why Sakusa had been sensitive enough that he’d actually responded verbally instead of shooting Atsumu a glare. “Fuck you,” he said. </p><p>Atsumu cut him a sharp grin, pleased at getting a rise out of him. “Whenever and wherever ya want, Omi-kun,” he’d said evenly.</p><p>The others had laughed it off, but Atsumu didn’t. He just lifted an eyebrow at Sakusa and turned. And he relished the feeling of eyes honing in on him all through practice like he was a target. </p><p>When they fucked for the first time in Sakusa’s hotel room after an away game, Atsumu hadn’t been surprised. He’d only been surprised it had taken so long. </p><p>And after that, it was easy. </p><p>But Atsumu still very clearly remembered looking at Sakusa at that moment at practice one day, sweat slicked and flushed with satisfaction from the sharp snap of an uncontested spike - from one of Atsumu’s clean sets. He recalled taking in the messy spill of those curls, the rare hint of a smile pulling at one corner of his lips, the glitter of those dark eyes meeting his across the court. </p><p>And Atsumu had thought then, simply, easily, and without complication: <i>I want that.</i> </p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>The press has a field day over Sakusa’s so-called “fit.” </p><p>Atsumu can’t begin to outline how many sensitivity trainings and stupid “reminders” he’s had from Meian and Coach Foster and their press team about how to react to fans, to reporters, to opposing players, etc. He’d gotten the hint right quick that they’d expected him to piss off the wrong person or say the wrong thing. </p><p>But who’s laughing now, right? </p><p>It turns out, it’s the Jackals’ model player Sakusa Kiyoomi who steps in the shit. It’s Sakusa who becomes the next celebrity pariah, his masked face plastered all over the internet and rag mags with clickbait headlines decrying his callous behavior. Jackals fans blast and defend Sakusa in equal measure, and all of it is just dirt, dirt, and more dirt. </p><p>But Atsumu doesn’t even have it in him to feel smug.</p><p>The video from that night, despite Atsumu overhearing Meian talking to that girl and her friend once Sakusa left the bar, of course leaks within the fucking hour after Sakusa had peaced out without a by your leave to anybody. </p><p>It all snowballs after that. </p><p>Sakusa takes two weeks of mandatory leave. That means he misses two entire matches, the few days away for one of them, and all of the practices in between. </p><p>The team gets by, but behind closed doors it’s a fucking shit show. To any discerning eye, it’s an outright shit show. </p><p>Their entire dynamic has shifted three feet to the left, and Atsumu’s pissed off that he has to try so hard to get things back on track in Sakusa’s absence. </p><p>Meian keeps telling him to take deep breaths, but Atsumu has no clue how that’s going to help things when Bokuto still plays like he’s got his opposite outside hitter to counter him and Hinata keeps jumping for blocks like Sakusa’s there to cover his left the way he’s used to, and Atsumu himself keeps sending Sakusa’s sets to poor fucking Barnes now that their lineup order’s all fucked. </p><p>In the end, they get by, but it’s not the same, and everyone’s keeping at least six feet away from him for some reason. </p><p>And the thing is, Sakusa is not even apologetic. </p><p>Despite combing the headlines and social posts about it, Atsumu’s seen nothing from him. He only sees some brief, quoted, and grossly formal statements from the team on social about how the MSBY Black Jackals value their fans and have a strict policy for player conduct. </p><p>Then, halfway through his mandated leave, Sakusa gets cornered outside of a grocery store. </p><p>Atsumu thinks Sakusa could have easily cut all this shit off at the knees. But instead of staring at the camera and lying through his teeth like the good little boy he usually is, for some reason Sakusa goes and decides to keep fueling the shit storm billowing around him. </p><p>Atsumu watches the footage on YouTube when Bokuto sends it to him. He ignores the slew of texts that come after it asking if Sakusa’s ok and watches the video on his phone.</p><p>From what Atsumu sees - and from what he confirms later when he replays the video again, again - the paparazzi press forward aggressively enough that Sakusa half leans backwards over a stand of an assortment of tomatoes and avocados. </p><p>Later, Atsumu will stare down at the red crescent-mark imprints on his palms from the tense press of his short nails deep into his skin.</p><p>But for now, he watches, attention rapt on the screen. </p><p>“Sakusa-senshu! Do you have a message for her? Do you want to apologize?” the paps ask in the video, flashing lights and microphones in Sakusa’s face as he blinks owlishly over the mask covering his nose and mouth.</p><p>And Sakusa does stare right into the camera then, finally, but the little shit says in that clear, clipped voice, simply: “No.” </p><p>It’s a cold, indifferent response. The mask hides the bottom half of his face, but even if it didn’t, it wouldn’t have revealed anything away. </p><p>Yet for anyone who knows Sakusa well enough, it’s clear that he’s just uncomfortable. It’s probably due to a mix of being cornered and being in the spotlight. Even at press junkets, Sakusa is always tight-lipped and lets everyone else on the team answer questions unless directly addressed. </p><p>His discomfort lies in the slight hunch of his shoulders, as if someone so tall and that powerful of a spiker could ever come across as small. It’s in the way his eyebrows furrow beneath the sprawl of curls hanging over them, in the slight crinkle of his eyes.</p><p>But whatever hidden feelings he has still don’t change the fact that, as he had that night that caused this stupid hiccup in his career leading up to the playoffs, Sakusa just up and walks away afterward instead of ellaborating, fucking his career further up the ass. Again. </p><p>When Atsumu thinks about it, like really sits down and thinks about it, he thinks, <i>fuck ‘em.</i> It’s not Sakusa’s responsibility to be held accountable for the actions of all of their fans, especially when they fucking touch him like that without his consent. </p><p>Like they have the right to stand that close, to feel the skin there at the nape of Sakusa’s neck, the texture of his curls between their fingers. </p><p>If Atsumu had just gone over there, had warded off the flirtatious attention Sakusa had obviously not wanted from this scrub who started this mess, maybe none of this would have happened. </p><p>But he hadn’t. </p><p>And now Sakusa’s actions, his refusal to nip this shit in the bud, is impacting the rest of the team. He has effectively messed up Atsumu’s game, and that’s not ok. </p><p>Toward the tail end of Sakusa’s leave, Atsumu doesn’t even have a drink before he takes a cab over to Sakusa’s and knocks on the door. He can’t tell if he’s horny or pissed off, but it’s probably a bit of both. </p><p>It’s a while before he realizes he’s just fucking standing there and waiting for the door to open, so he knocks again, louder, harder. </p><p>“Hey!” he snaps, feeling impatient, but there’s a small, uncomfortable knot settling in his gut. </p><p>After the new video of Sakusa, he overheard Coach Foster tell Meian that they’ve recommended Sakusa spend the rest of his leave at home to wait for things to tide over. </p><p>So Atsumu knows Sakusa is there. He’s just not opening the door. </p><p>Atsumu stares at it, strangely at a loss for words. He doesn’t knock again, but he doesn’t leave either. Instead, he just - stands there for a moment. </p><p>Beneath the door, he suddenly notices the shifting light of someone’s shadow on the other side. </p><p>Atsumu’s tempted to slam his fist into the door at the sight, to insist he be let in, but instead, for some reason, <i>he just keeps stands there.</i> He stares at that bit of light, watches it shift, until eventually it stills. It’s a clean slate of light then with no one else on the other side of the door any longer. </p><p>Atsumu’s not sure why he waited so long, but part if it was probably due to the heavy weight of something winding in his chest and sinking into his stomach. </p><p>At practice the next day, he doesn’t rag about Sakusa, doesn’t blow up on court, ignores the barest mention of the man altogether. And later, he doesn’t get just drunk enough to make his way over to Sakusa’s again - not for the rest of the time Sakusa’s on leave. </p><p>Because he knows what it feels like now to knock on the door and have it go unanswered, even if someone’s there - and, that night, it was that knowledge that made him finally turn and walk away.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>There was one time that Atsumu - technically - stayed over. It had been a bit after that weird fight they’d had when Sakusa had crossed the line with his stupid question. </p><p>They all had the day off. Atsumu went to brunch with Hinata and Bokuto, downed some bottomless mimosas, felt sick with all the sugar, then tailed it over to Sakusa’s. He’d done it almost instinctively even though it wasn’t their normal time. The sun was still shining, high in the sky with a full day still ahead, and Atsumu wasn’t sure if Sakusa would be home or if he actually had a life on days off like this. </p><p>It turned out he didn’t, because he opened the door.</p><p>They’d fucked first on the couch, the sunlight streaming in and lighting up over Sakusa’s skin. Atsumu had still felt enough of a buzz and had been on enough of a sugar high that he’d held Sakusa down and allowed himself to take his time. He traced the lines of Sakusa’s muscles as they moved under his fingertips, trailed the sweat pooling in the dips and contours of his body with his tongue and his lips, before he finally sucked Sakusa down and choked on him. </p><p>When he looked up, he could see the way Sakusa stared down at him, all of that intense attention only on him and it hadn’t taken Atsumu long to cum from almost that alone.</p><p>They’d eventually moved to the bedroom because Sakusa was gonna have a fucking conniption if they got cum on the cushions. Then they’d both passed out after an extended round two that left Atsumu sore and open and a little bit bruised. </p><p>Atsumu would never admit this to anyone, but he’d woken up first, feeling sated and calm in a way he normally doesn’t. To get there, it usually takes him an hour or two of time he doesn’t have of listening to meditative music, practicing intense breathing techniques, and sometimes following a guiding voice as it talks him through depressing his skin on key pressure points. </p><p>But this time, he’d rolled over, the sheets twisting around his hips, and he’d realized he wasn’t in his own bed, or even in his own apartment. He never stays over anywhere, hates sleeping on anything that’s not his bed and his alone, feels weird hearing someone else’s breathing constantly in his space when it’s not Osamu’s, even years later of living away from each other. </p><p>It would have been jolting, waking up like that, but then he’d seen a familiar mop of black curls, those two beauty marks peeking past a wisp of them, and he’d known immediately that he was ok. </p><p>He’d never slept over at Sakusa’s before, and he later stands by the fact that this didn’t really count. But it had felt different then - just for a moment. Atsumu had been there for hours at that point - four, five hours maybe - and the sunlight was tinged with orange as it washed over Sakusa and his long slender fingers lightly curled next to his sleep-lax face. </p><p>Atsumu had taken in the peace of Sakusa’s expression, the strange vulnerability of it when he wasn’t in such control over it. And Atsumu’s chest had felt tight as he kept looking down at him, the angle of his jaw, the dark sweep of his eyelashes, those two fucking beauty marks over his eyebrow. </p><p>He’d clenched his jaw then when he realized he was just fucking staring and carefully folded the sheets back on his side of the bed to slip out.</p><p>When he left, Sakusa was just stirring, but Atsumu had pulled his clothes on quickly and hightailed it out of there before he said anything. </p><p>Outside, the sun was just starting to go down. The streets were busy with people heading out to dinner or heading home, the world and everyone in it rushing ahead and behind him as he stood outside Sakusa’s building there on the curb with nowhere to go. </p><p>He had a whole evening ahead of him, an entire night, even. He could go meet up with Osamu for the restaurant’s family meal with some of his staff, could hit up some of the guys for a night out, could go pick somebody up. But in the end, he caught a cab back to his place and just took it easy on his own flipping through shows.</p><p>It was strange, though. He found himself rolling the events of the day around in his mind, catching on moments like the way Sakusa had moved just right the first time, or how his face had shifted in a way Atsumu had never seen before during the second time. </p><p>But, in the end, the image that stuck like a still frame in his mind was waking up to the sunlight spilling into a room he couldn’t identify, like it was from a dream. And relaxing back into his couch in his own home, somehow he could still feel it, clearly, simply, like he was still there - the thud of his heart in his chest, the way the light caught and held for a moment to shine over Sakusa’s curls splashed on the crisp and clean white sheets, the faint scent of that goddamn shampoo that was so familiar and so comforting that it made it feel like home then, right there in a room that wasn’t even his own.  </p><p>Atsumu had shaken his head to scrub the image away and got up to grab a drink to empty his mind just a little bit in the only way he knew how by himself. </p><p>Because who needed memories anyway, right? Atsumu was just fine with the way things were. He wouldn’t complicate a good thing - not while he still had it. Not when he could lose it. </p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu knows what people think of him. They agree that he’s hot shit, as they should, because the world ain’t blind. But he’s honest enough to acknowledge that he’s not the nice one on the team. </p><p>To be fair, neither is Sakusa. Between the two of them, they probably have the market cornered at the cross section of pretentious and asshole. </p><p>Atsumu’s pretty sure that’s why the paps target him next out of everyone else on the team. They’re out for blood and think Atsumu’s the one leaking from the taint or whatever with scrum on Sakusa - that he’ll be the quickest to turn on his teammate or some shit to take some stranger’s side. </p><p>Motherfuckers. </p><p>Despite actually taking heed of the press team’s advice, reporters still catch him walking out of Osamu’s new spot in Shibuya. He’d been in and out to say ‘hi’ and just pick up a quick, familiar meal, but somehow there they are. Their voices are sharp and grating, growing in volume as they fight to be heard over each other, cameras flashing, all eyes on him. </p><p>On any other day, he might’ve basked in the attention, might’ve cut them his most charming grin and flirted a little with the bit of fame. </p><p>But he has a bag of fatty tuna - a special order that Osamu pretends he doesn’t have but always does - and a few hot onigiri that are quickly growing cold, so he’s pissed off before he’s even completely surrounded. He can even see his Lyft driver at the corner of the block waiting for him.</p><p>Behind him, he feels his neck prickle before he hears Osamu’s lightly raised voice telling the paps to fuck off from his storefront. </p><p>It’s then that some brave scrub gets a microphone right in Atsumu’s face and asks, “Do you think Sakusa-senshu should apologize for what he did to that woman?”</p><p>And, beloved V.League fuckboy jerk that he is, Atsumu snaps at the mention of Sakusa and just lays it right out for them. “Goddamn,” he says. “‘M gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of hearin’ about this already.” </p><p>He’s sure it’s his cursing that causes the sudden slow wave of silence to wash over the crowd. But he also knows that these types always like catching him talking out of turn or saying something vulgar or out of context. </p><p>At his words, he notices their eyes sharpening behind the cameras and the phone speakers aimed in his direction, and he feels a nasty curl of delight drag jagged and sweet inside him before it spills onto his face in the form of a hard smile.</p><p>“Ya know what? Yeah, I’ll actually answer yer question,” he says then, distantly thinking that the press team is gonna have his ass but shoving the thought away. “And this isn’t just to that chick who started this shit - it’s to all of the fans out there.”</p><p>“Tsumu!” he hears somewhere behind him, but he plows on ahead.</p><p>“Seems ta me that ya just aren’t used ta pretty-boy Sakusa tellin’ ya off when it’s on <i>you</i> ta learn ta keep yer hands ta yerself. The man doesn’t like ta be touched. Is that so hard ta get through yer thick fuckin’ skulls?” He shakes his head in exaggerated disappointment as the voices in front of him clamor and rise to an affronted crescendo. “Just ‘cause it’s pretty don’t mean ya should touch it, motherfuckers,” he says. </p><p>Then he shoots them one last grin, offers a peace sign, and shoves his other hand into the camera lens closest to his face. He walks away, reveling in the voices pouring over him like a tide.</p><p>Thank fuck the Lyft driver didn’t take off yet because he heads straight to the car and hops in. </p><p>When he finally gets home, he takes the time to eat, but he doesn’t even really taste it as it goes down. </p><p>It’s only later that he finally checks his phone, which has been buzzing nonstop on his countertop. He sees the string of texts and missed calls from Coach Foster, the press manager, Meian, Bokuto. A few unknowns.</p><p>He stares blankly down at it. And he feels suddenly like the entire world has seen him. Like maybe he’s finally, simply, seeing himself. </p><p>It’s a crawling sensation, that feeling of being scoped from a distance. It’s like someone is lining up a shot in his own brain, stacking up his memories one behind another like dominos, each one landing like a thud that echoes each beat of his heart: Sakusa cornering him in a hotel room bathroom. Turning away as Atsumu takes someone else home. Jerking away from a woman’s touch. </p><p>But at the front of the stack, it’s the memory of Osamu saying, “People change.” </p><p>And then - <i>BAM</i> - it’s a hit right between the eyes - and <i>everything changes.</i> The first domino tips. And the rest of Atsumu unravels with it.</p><p>Memories speed past behind his eyes: Sakusa staring at him across the court like a target. Asking a bomb of a question. Looking up at him from down on his knees. The spill of his hair across a pillow in the sunlight. And, in the end, opening the door to Atsumu’s knock - always. Always. </p><p>Just a few moments before, Atsumu had watched the reporters descend, and he’d wanted to take his shot at them - at everyone - for what they’d done to Sakusa. </p><p>When his phone rings a moment later, he glances at the name across the screen, and this time he picks it up.</p><p>“Shit. The video of yer little outburst is posted already,” Osamu says in lieu of a greeting like a proper goddamn human. “And, hearin’ what ya said, I’m guessin’ it got complicated. With Sakusa.”</p><p>“Piss off,” Atsumu says tiredly. “That all ya call me for? To say ‘I told ya so’?”</p><p>“Nah, actually. I wanted to say that - it’s a good look on ya.”</p><p>“Hah?”</p><p>“You bein’ the stand-up guy,” Osamu replies, and then he finishes in a rush. “‘S a good look on ya. I’m not sayin’ it again.” He pauses. “Because it’s not like ya. At all. It’s like the opposite of who ya are.”</p><p>Atsumu is quiet as he takes that in, can’t even come up with a response to snap back. Instead, he thinks about Osamu’s initial question, one he had asked months ago too. “I don’t think he’s the stayin’ type, Samu.”</p><p>Osamu doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Did ya ask him to? Or tell ‘im ya wouldn’t fuck around anymore?” When Atsumu doesn’t reply, Osamu sighs. “Well goddamn, Tsumu.”</p><p>“Look,” Atsumu says, frustrated, but not with Sakusa. “He - may have asked before - a while ago - like broached the topic. And I - maybe got pissed off. And maybe walked out.” </p><p>“So it ended then? I thought - ”</p><p>“Well, no,” Atsumu says. “I went back to his place later and - y’know, we started up again.”</p><p>“Ok,” Osamu says slowly, hesitantly like he’s either not following or dreading where this is going. “And now?”</p><p>“Well, I went over ta his place - after the press took a shit on ‘im. I knocked on the door and everythin’. And - and he didn’t let me in. So -”</p><p>“Shit,” Osamu says, his voice growing sharp. “Pull up yer fuckin’ panties, kid. Use yer words with ‘im or git the fuck out before it gets any messier than you’ve already made it. I’m not havin’ this conversation with ya again, ya hearin’ me, Tsumu?”</p><p>Atsumu is nearly speechless, but he can’t just let it slide when Osamu gets in this kind of mood. “Fuck,” he says, mildly impressed and trying not to let it show in his voice. “Yer a mean little shit, ya know that?”</p><p>Osamu laughs lightly across the line like he can hear it in his voice anyway. “Had ta survive with ya somehow. Yer too dense for a subtle touch.”</p><p>“I wish I’d eaten ya in the womb,” Atsumu says, but he doesn’t, really.</p><p>“You and me both.” And it’s been said enough times by now that he knows Osamu doesn’t mean that either.</p><p>Atsumu doesn’t say anything for another moment, but he knows Osamu’s still there, like always. Then he says, “Hey, don’t open the next location without me.”</p><p>There’s a pause, but then he can hear a hint of a smile in Osamu’s voice when he says, “Wasn’t plannin’ on it.” </p><p>.<br/>
.<br/>
.</p><p> </p><p>A few days later, when he opens the door to a quick set of three knocks, he nearly chokes on his own spit in surprise when he sees Sakusa on the other side. He’d texted him repeatedly over the past few days since his own video went viral, but he hadn’t received a response.</p><p>Sakusa holds up a bag. “Hungry?” he asks. </p><p>Atsumu clears his throat. “Where’d ya get my address?” He’s not sure why he’s asking. He doesn’t actually care. </p><p>Sakusa lowers the bag. “Bokuto. He seemed surprised I asked.”</p><p>“Right,” Atsumu says, stepping back and sweeping an arm to welcome him in for a lack of anything better to do. </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>If he hadn’t been so surprised and had a moment to think about it, he might’ve shut the door in Sakusa’s face or said something shitty about house arrest - anything to stop him from coming in. Because he’s still unraveling, still getting things straight in his own mind. </p><p>Instead, all he says next is, “I just washed the sheets. And - the place is - pretty clean?” He sees Sakusa’s hands still for a moment where he’s untying the takeout bag, but then he continues as if he didn’t hear a word. </p><p>Soon, they’re sitting next to each other on the ground, eating soup and salads at the coffee table like it hasn’t been weeks since they’ve hooked up or even seen each other in person. </p><p>When they’re done, Sakusa packs the trash back into the bag and walks it into the kitchen to toss it as if he’s been here countless times before. But he hasn’t. He hasn’t ever stepped foot into Atsumu’s apartment. No one has - at least no one he’s ever slept with. </p><p>Atsumu’s left sitting on the ground against the couch, staring awkwardly at the black screen of his own damn TV like he’s the one intruding here. </p><p>He gets up when Sakusa walks back in, but instead of leading to way the bedroom the way he should, he heads to the door. Atsumu can do nothing but follow, uncomfortable and disgruntled about it. </p><p>Then he nearly runs into Sakusa’s back when the man stops suddenly in his tracks and drops the bomb on him. He doesn’t turn around, so Atsumu stares at the short, soft curls at the base of his neck.</p><p>“I know we’ve had this conversation before, but I’ve been wanting to ask you again,” Sakusa says. Then he pauses, and Atsumu feels tense and nervous and restless in the wake of his words. Sakusa turns around then to stare straight at him. “Are you still sleeping around?” </p><p>And Atsumu remembers with that tunnel vision sort of clarity the first time that Sakusa had asked that very question. Sakusa hadn’t looked at him back then, had opted for staring stoically ahead and letting Atsumu flounder. </p><p>But now his expression is strangely open, vulnerable in how exposed it is without a mask covering half of it, let alone without that veneer of cold indifference. </p><p>“When did I ever stop?” Atsumu asks, but he knows he’s avoiding the question. He wants to say ‘yes,’ but it’s really only now that Sakusa has asked that Atsumu realizes the answer is definitively ‘no.’ He hasn’t even craved it, hasn’t wanted to go out and get drunk and find somebody as ready and willing as he usually is. </p><p>Because he thinks of the line of Sakusa’s neck when he swallows down perhaps the truth of his own feelings in favor of prioritizing Atsumu’s. He thinks of that horrible knot in his gut of guilt when he goes home with someone else. He thinks of Sakusa’s shampoo that, when he gets the barest whiff of it at away games, it feels a bit like home. And he thinks all the way back to the way sunlight lands on Sakusa’s curls when they’re splayed out on a pillow - something he might see again if he ever deigns to stay over.  </p><p>And he’s pretty sure Sakusa knows it. </p><p>Sakusa narrows his eyes like he can see right through Atsumu, and he says, “Cut the shit, Miya.”</p><p>Atsumu folds his arms and straightens his shoulders, tasting a fight in the air and feeling a curl of delight twist inside him. “Careful, Omi-kun. Ya might not recover from the scandal of it if the paps catch wind of that potty mouth ‘a yers.”</p><p>Sakusa steps close. Atsumu holds his ground until Sakusa places one hand on Atsumu’s chest and walks him back until he has him pinned against the wall. The heat of his hand burns a spot right over Atsumu’s sternum through the thin material of his t-shirt. </p><p>“Is this really what you want? Just this?” Sakusa asks, pressing close enough that their lips just barely touch. </p><p>Atsumu shrugs, his throat feeling like it’s closing up. He thinks it comes across too much in his own breathlessness when he says, “Yeah. Yer a good fuck. Let’s do this.” </p><p>But Sakusa doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t let Atsumu have the out he’s looking for. “Then don’t fuck anyone else,” Sakusa says simply. “Only me.” </p><p>And there it is. Atsumu isn’t even surprised by it. He feels like he’s been waiting for it, even. Again. Even when he’d shut it down so definitively the first time. </p><p>But nothing ever comes that easy - especially not for him - so he pushes back. </p><p>“Or what,” he says, a smile sliding across his face. “Ya gonna cut me off if I keep fuckin’ around?” </p><p>Sakusa doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.” </p><p>And that isn’t a surprise either, but Atsumu can’t help it that he swallows again against the rising feeling in his throat, something ugly and defensive and possessive all at once trying to choke him from the inside. </p><p>Then he decides, fuck it, because yeah, he’s been stewing on this. Marinating in his guilt and thinking about what he wants, and he’s come to the realization that maybe it’s this. Exactly this. Sakusa. </p><p>But he remembers then, hasn’t stopped thinking of it since, really, about that night not too long ago. The memory is clear in his mind of how it felt to knock and ask to be let in, just to be met with a closed door that wouldn’t open. </p><p>So Sakusa’s gonna have to ask for it. Beg for it even. </p><p>“And if I agree?” Atsumu says, tone turning playful. “Yer gonna be mine too?”</p><p>At that, Sakusa’s eyes darken. “That depends, Miya. On how good you are.” </p><p>That stops Atsumu short, because - and maybe this is selfish of him, he recognizes that - but he didn’t think he’d have to work for it. Usually it’s the other way around. “What do ya mean ‘good’?” he asks warily.</p><p>“No mistakes. You sleep with someone else, and I’m out.”</p><p>“Oh,” Atsumu says. “Easy.” </p><p>He hates that he’s relieved. </p><p>He’s fully aware that he’s bared the ugliest parts of himself to this man. He has come at Sakusa tipsy and drunk, angry and miserable, petty and cutting. He’s shown himself as hungry with want, pissed off and vicious, desperate and begging. And Sakusa has taken every bit of it regularly and constantly for over half a year now.</p><p>And there’s that integral part of Atsumu that he’s self-aware enough to know exists. It’s not something he hides, but it consumes him. Opponents, even some casual partners and friends, have ended up hating him for it - that irrepressible passion he has that drives him to do anything and step on anyone to get what he wants. It may be ugly, selfish, conceited - but he wouldn’t have gotten to where he is without it. And it’s something he won’t, possibly can’t, give up for anybody.</p><p>“Ya sure I’m not gonna be too much for ya, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu asks, his voice sounding off even despite the bravado he forces into it. </p><p>Sakusa shifts, and Atsumu feels heat pool down low in his groin, even through his uncertainty. It’s that damn pavlovian response again. Just breathing Sakusa in, feeling his body pressed close like this, having the sharp attention focused just on him and nothing else is enough to get Atsumu going like nothing else in this goddamn world. Then Sakusa says quietly, “No. I just think sometimes that you may want too much, Atsumu.”</p><p>Those words quiet the buzz in Atsumu’s head as he stares back. He takes in the soft spill of curls over Sakusa’s forehead. He always thought it made Sakusa look younger, softer, but deep down he knows it’s steel running behind that dark gaze. “I don’t believe in too much,” he says.  </p><p>“Then I guess I’m going to have to work for it.” Sakusa must read Atsumu’s silence for disbelief, because he says then, “I’ve been taking your shit for this long already, haven’t I? And you weren’t even mine yet.” </p><p>And Atsumu thinks, no, it wasn’t that he didn’t believe Sakusa couldn’t do it. Rather, it’s the idea that he may be willing to - wants to, even. He swallows. “So, if I’m yers now, what’re ya gonna do about it?” </p><p>Sakusa’s eyes grow dark, his lips pressing together as he looks down a scant few inches, and it’s like Atsumu can’t look away. And then, of course, Atsumu gets antsy. He’s already more than half turned on, and another half of him is light with relief at the same time that maybe, finally, despite his stupid best efforts, they might be on the same page. </p><p>“Uh, Omi. This is real nice - havin’ this all out in the open - but - were we gonna fuck? Or did ya wanna just - “</p><p>“Open your mouth,” Sakusa says, cutting him off.</p><p>Atsumu, struck silent, lets his mouth slip open. </p><p>Sakusa sticks two fingers in, pressing lightly onto his tongue, almost too deep. Atsumu gags a little before getting used to the pressure, the salty, slightly soapy taste of those long fingers a welcome intrusion as he stares at the dark eyes glittering at him.</p><p>“I don’t mind hearing you choke,” Sakusa says in a light tone, “but that’s all I want to hear from you until I say otherwise. You hear me, Atsumu?” </p><p>“Fuck,” Atsumu tries to say around Sakusa’s fingers.</p><p>The fingers start pushing in, making him gag a little again, before they slide out. And then Atsumu can’t help but suck on them as they keep thrusting in, wanting more. “You got one pass, but that was it. You understand?” </p><p>Atsumu moans in response around Sakusa’s fingers, pressing his hips forward, his hands already gripping at Sakusa’s shoulders. Sakusa just rests his fingers on Atsumu’s tongue as he dips his head forward to press soft, sucking kisses along the length of Atsumu’s neck.</p><p>When Sakusa pulls back, he pulls his fingers away and says, “Take off your jeans.” </p><p>Atsumu is quick to comply. He’s strangely uncoordinated, fumbling first to undo the button, then carefully zipping down against his stiffening cock. Then he kicks them off along with his briefs as Sakusa presses forward again with a hard, impatient kiss that knocks Atsumu’s head lightly into the wall. </p><p>It doesn’t take long to shed the rest of their clothes after that. There’s almost a rhythm to it between them now. Shirts, Sakusa’s belt and pants. And then it’s a quick stumble with Atsumu leading them backwards to his bedroom. </p><p>When Sakusa pushes him down onto his back, Atsumu goes with it, twisting only to rummage quickly into the bedside table for a condom and lube. </p><p>“One day, now that you’re mine,” Sakusa says, starting to breathe heavily as he picks up the bottle of lube, “I’ll let you take me raw.” Atsumu watches as Sakusa coats his fingers and reaches behind himself. “But, as I said earlier, you’re going to have to prove to me first that you can be good.”</p><p>Atsumu bites down on his lip so he doesn’t say anything, but he watches with rapt attention as Sakusa hovers on his knees, his dick hard and leaking precome onto Atsumu’s belly, and he can’t help but groan. He reaches to pull lightly at Sakusa’s dick, using his other hand to guide him a bit closer by a light touch to one thigh so he can grind his hips up against Sakusa. </p><p>Sakusa moans lightly, fucking his cock forward along Atsumu’s and then driving his hips back to start stretching himself open with his own fingers. Atsumu pulls him down for a kiss to cover the words that are trying to spill out of his mouth. Then he reaches around, following the cleft of Sakusa’s ass to meet the fingers fucking into his hole. He swirls his middle finger against the wetness of the lube at Sakusa’s rim before pressing in too, and he feels his cock twitch at the choked out moan Sakusa lets out. </p><p>Soon, Sakusa’s pulling his fingers away, so Atsumu withdraws. He moves his hands to Sakusa’s hips as Sakusa rolls a condom on him. </p><p>When Sakusa shifts back again, Atsumu’s eyes nearly roll back in his head when he feels the head of his dick press against the tight rim of Sakusa’s hole. Sakusa slowly sinks down an inch, taking in the flared head first, and he feels so fucking hot and tight. It takes all of Atsumu’s control not to force his hips up and thrust all the way in.</p><p>Instead, he lets Sakusa sink down in increments, rising up, then down, controlling the pace. His thighs are hard beneath Atsumu’s fingertips as he trails his palms down and back up to Sakusa’s hips. </p><p>And then, with a long, hot slide, Sakusa finally takes Atsumu all the way down to the base. Sakusa’s breathless as he adjusts, his hips moving in light circles. Atsumu knows he’s gripping too tight at Sakusa’s hips, but he’s so fucking tight and feels so goddamn good taking all of Atsumu so deep like this. </p><p>“I’ve wanted you,” Sakusa says then, voice pitched low as he starts to move, lifting up and sinking down slow, shifting slightly to find what feels best. “All of you. For so long.” </p><p>Atsumu can barely think straight past the heat of it, the pressure around his cock, the slick, wet sound of Sakusa fucking himself down and moaning around the feeling of it. </p><p>“Talk to me, Atsumu,” Sakusa gasps out. “I wanna hear you.”</p><p>Atsumu rolls his hips up to meet him as Sakusa sinks down again, saying breathlessly, “Ya have me, Omi.”</p><p>Sakusa’s lips curl up in a rare smile, “Are you still gonna say that when I’m not riding your dick?” He starts to pick up the pace, and Atsumu reaches up to grip his hair with one hand, the other doing little but moving along with the motion of Sakusa’s hips over his own.</p><p>“Oh shit,” Atsumu says, nodding helplessly. “Shit shit. Omi. Yes.”</p><p>“Yeah? You're mine? Just mine and no one else’s,” Sakusa says. He has both hands pressed hard into Atsumu’s chest now, and Atsumu swears he can feel his heart thumping against Sakusa’s palms. He feels that fiery heat roiling inside him and flaring up along his nerves through his fingertips and down to his toes as Sakusa moves - building and building, making him flush hot with it.</p><p>“Yes!” he cries out. “Yes, Omi. Fuck!”</p><p>“Because no one’s gonna fuck you quite like this, are they?” Sakusa says, and he’s panting now, riding Atsumu harder, his hair falling over his face and sticking there from the sweat building on his forehead. </p><p>“No. Omi. Omi. Fuck, no one,” Atsumu says. And it’s all he can do but say anything Sakusa wants over the slapping sound of skin against skin, the heady smell of lube and sweat and sex, the slick slide of their bodies as they move against each other. It’s familiar and satisfying and too much and not enough all at once - need and desperation cloying at Atsumu’s insides as he chases his orgasm while Sakusa rides him hard and fast. </p><p>But he wants Sakusa to feel good too. Wants to see him unravel. </p><p>He reaches forward to palm at Sakusa’s dick, rolling over the dripping precome at the head before wrapping his slick hand around the shaft and starting to pump at him slowly. Sakusa groans, and it just makes Atsumu hotter, hearing him come undone. </p><p>“Omi, make me cum,” he says. “Make me cum like this, baby. Love it when you ride me like this.”</p><p>“You want me to let you cum?” Sakusa gasps out, voice reedy with need. “When you’ve been leading me around by the dick for half a fucking year, Atsumu?”</p><p>“Yer the best I’ve ever had, Omi,” Atsumu says, near crying with how much he wants to cum, how hard he’s trying to hold himself at bay as he watches Sakusa move, all smooth lines of muscle and precise control, even here. “The best. Fuck.”</p><p>Sakusa just keeps riding him, staring down with those dark eyes, shadows passing over them in the dim light. But then he says, “Then come for me, Atsumu. Make me feel it.”</p><p>And Atsumu does, he thrusts up, driving deep inside Sakusa’s heat - once, twice - and then he stiffens as he cums and cums. His hips jerk up without his control as Sakusa sinks down one last time all the way to the hilt around him as he jerks himself off. Then he cums, spilling warm and messy all over Atsumu’s chest with a groan Atsumu can feel down to the hilt of his dick as he stills with the last dregs of his own orgasm. </p><p>He nearly blacks out as Sakusa tightens around him. The next thing he registers is staring up at his own ceiling, swallowing as Sakusa slowly lifts off him. He forces himself to sit up and pull off the condom, and he pats at Sakusa’s chest to make him lay down, opting to be the one to go grab a towel this time. </p><p>When he comes back, Sakusa is still on top of the covers, but he’s laying down with half his face buried in a pillow, one arm curled beneath it.</p><p>“Hey,” Atsumu says, moving slowly to sit on the bed next to him. Though half his face is hidden, Atsumu can see Sakusa’s two beauty marks above his eyebrow. But they’re not his only ones. The others are almost like freckles, dark constellations Atsumu has used to navigate his body in the past, but he’s never taken a moment outside of having sex with Sakusa to trace them.</p><p>He does now. Slowly, gingerly as if he might be told to stop, he starts at one shoulder, traces one mark to the next on his forearm, moves on to his chest. </p><p>“If you tell me to leave right now, I’ll fucking cut you,” Sakusa says quietly. </p><p>“I think I love you,” Atsumu says. </p><p>And Sakusa can go, Atsumu thinks then, but if he stays, then he stays. </p><p>Sakusa blinks both eyes open and shifts onto his back so he can stare up at Atsumu. “I figured,” he says evenly. </p><p>“Hey! Fuck you!” Atsumu exclaims, but he’s laughing, and he can’t figure out if it’s from relief or Sakusa’s particularly blunt brand of humor. He pulls his hand back, but Sakusa grabs it and holds it over his chest. </p><p>“I wouldn’t have let you in all those times if I thought you didn’t,” Sakusa says. “I just wasn’t sure what you were trying to prove with sleeping around.”</p><p>“I didn’t know,” Atsumu says, unsure exactly what he means. “I guess I didn’t know that I wanted - that I was - “</p><p>“Well, you’ve always been slow,” Sakusa cuts in, his voice light.</p><p>“Hey! I just - didn’t want things to get complicated between us,” he says. He thinks of Osamu’s words from months before. “We work together. See each other all the time and shit. It could’ve been messy.”</p><p>Sakusa sighs, and Atsumu lets himself be pulled down so that he’s resting his head on Sakusa’s chest. Atsumu can feel each breath, the heavy thumping sound of Sakusa’s heart against his ear. “You’re the one who made it complicated by ignoring it,” Sakusa says.</p><p>“Ya didn’t seem to mind,” Atsumu replies, confusion pulling a frown between his eyebrows. </p><p>“I figured you were one of those guys who had to get it out of your system - to settle with being with just one person. It didn’t bother me if you kept coming back.” He pauses. “It took you longer than I thought though. But like I said, you’ve always been slow.”</p><p>Atsumu pulls back a bit and blinks at him. Sakusa’s eyes slip closed as he rolls over onto his side again, but the corner of his mouth that Atsumu can see slips up in a half - or maybe even a whole - smile. In the dim glow of the city lights spilling in through the window, Sakusa’s curls look like shadows on the pillow. </p><p>There’s a strange vulnerability to it, the relaxed and peaceful expression on Sakusa’s face. Atsumu knows Sakusa’s still wide awake, even as he stares down at him - and Sakusa just - lets Atsumu have this. Him. </p><p>Atsumu trails his gaze over the angle of Sakusa’s jaw, the dark sweep of his eyelashes, those two fucking beauty marks over his eyebrow. He breathes in the scent of Sakusa’s shampoo, sex and sweat still hovering in the air around it. </p><p>He reaches out again, because he can, because this is his now, and he grazes his fingertips over the soft skin of Sakusa’s waist where it dips down and climbs again over his hip to end at another beauty mark. </p><p>“I love you too, you know,” Sakusa says quietly.</p><p>It’s all so simple then, Atsumu thinks. And so easy. Uncomplicated. </p><p>And something in Atsumu’s chest unwinds, unravels completely, as he takes Sakusa in, and he files it away, the memory of this moment - one worth keeping.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have so many BokuAka and OsaAka WIPs halfway outlined, but yet again, SakuAtsu is what poured out. This idea came from wanting to write about grown-ass men having a simple, no frills casual relationship. Of course, here we are with whatever this is. (It’s feelings. It’s just straight-up feelings. With smut.) Thanks to the Discord babes who talked it out with me! Love!  </p><p>I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one! For some reason it was a tough fic to knock out. Thanks for reading! &lt;3</p><p>P.S. If you’re on Twitter, come hit me up - <a href="https://twitter.com/meekswrites">@meekswrites</a>!</p><p>ETA: There's art now for this fic! </p><p>I commissioned this beautiful piece from the incredibly talented <a href="https://twitter.com/beestinggs/status/1360392248123301892?s=20">Bee on twitter</a>! </p><p>And was wonderfully surprised and overjoyed by this piece from <a href="https://twitter.com/tofunydraws/status/1363018128746233856?s=20">Tiffany on twitter</a>! </p><p>Full of love!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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